Am-Ohkre went to one of his chests inside his tent upon his return and pulled out a glass orb. He set the orb on a shallowly indented plate to hold it in place, and then walked over to his tent entrance and closed the curtains, ignoring the two guards outside. This made it dark inside, but he could still see well enough. Pulling up a chair, he sat at the table, closed his eyes, placed his hand on the orb, and started to mutter indecipherable words while slightly rubbing the orb with his left hand.
The orb started to glow and then very quickly lit up bright enough to illuminate the entire tent, large that is was. Am-Ohkre opened his eyes and looked into the orb, seeing a familiar face. “Am-Sultain.”
“You are early,” the figure in the orb responded. “What news?”
“Ke-Tor suspects,” Am-Ohkre said simply.
The figure in the orb leaned back, showing more of his upper body and not just his face. He took a moment to contemplate the news before responding. “The information remains with just the Arch-Mages. Some of the wizards are bound to be suspicious, if they are half intelligent, so we should expect this from them. Did you say anything to him about it?”
“No, I said nothing other than you have your reasons, but why not let them know about the Alore Staff? What harm could come from that?”
Am-Sultain leaned back further, stroking his long grey beard. “Perhaps you are too trusting. It was difficult enough to share this knowledge with you and Am-Shee, but what do you think would happen if over a dozen wizards learned that we may have located the ancient artifact of Alore?”
Am-Ohkre now leaned in, making a show of doing the exact opposite of his leader, the High-Mage Am-Sultain. “One or more of them could pose a risk, but I think the risk would be to you.”
“Yes, only one of us can wield the first staff of magic, but we will need all of our powers combined to obtain it, and there is not much time left remaining to us. I do not think you will want to sleep for two hundred years in order to have another chance at obtaining it, do you?” Am-Sultain replied.
Am-Ohkre thought about this for a moment and unconsciously stroked his beard. Sleeping for two hundred years was magically possible. It had been discovered thousands of years ago by the first mages of Agon, but he knew what the High-Mage was referring to. When asleep, a mage was very vulnerable and had to spend considerable energy and effort to protect himself or something unwarranted or even fatal could befall him. Sleep isn’t actually a good word to use, he thought to himself. Hibernate would be more accurate, but no matter, Sultain was using this as a veiled threat to keep him in agreement with the course of action that the Arch-Mages of Kesh had all agreed upon beforehand
Finally, he spoke. “No, you are correct. The time to act is now, before the passing of Dor Akun, and perhaps you are correct in not telling the wizards. They will simply have to accept our decision.”
“I am pleased to hear this, Am-Ohkre.” We first, however, must determine if the information in the Balarian scroll is correct, and it refers to writings done nearly a thousand years ago by the Ulathan historian Diamedes. If any of the writing from Diamedes survived the war or any of Akun’s passings, it would reside in Utandra, the capital, so we must take Ulatha and secure anything that survived the great war.”
“I take it you mean the town of Korwell when you refer to it by its original name,” Am-Ohkre stated more than asked.
The High-Mage leaned back into the orb, looming larger. “I will not honor the Ulathan usurper by calling it anything other than its rightful name. The ignorant, petty, arrogant fool has no clue to the land’s history or heritage,” Am-Sultain said, anger in his voice, but then he took a moment to lean back and take a deep breath before continuing. “He can call himself king or anything else that he wants to, much as the prior six rulers of Ulatha have done since its fall, but in two days, I expect you to fulfill your mission and take Ulatha for Kesh. Secure the castle and town. Am I clear?” he said, the last three words almost inaudible.
“Understood, Am-Sultain.” The globe quickly went dim, plunging Am-Ohkre’s tent into darkness again. The old man stood and walked over to the curtains, pulling them open and letting in the morning light. His two guards barely made any movement or notice of the act, but he could tell they were jumpy. They always were when they had to pull sentry duty for the wizards.
Am-Ohkre looked around at the edge of the small flat plateau that served as the wizards’ base camp. It was just large enough for three fairly large tents, one for each wizard, with enough space at either end to congregate or meet with their subordinates. Although technically every Kesh was of the same race, the wizards did their utmost not to consort or fraternize with the common class, and so while the main brigand camp was right below them, the thirty-foot cliff wall served as a barrier between the two castes. It had taken several days for over a dozen stonemasons to carve the crude stairs into the cliff face for no other purpose than to isolate the wizard caste from the brigand caste, and Am-Ohkre felt the effort was most worthwhile.
He noticed the young apprentice Khan standing where he had left him, cloak pulled around him closely with only the top of his staff sticking above his hooded head. There was something strange about the young man, almost as if he was more Ulathan than Kesh, though Am-Ohkre knew this to be folly. One look at him and his tall, lean stature, despite his lighter, pale complexion, could only indicate he was from Kesh blood. It was more in his attitude, however, and lack of ambition that set him apart from the other apprentices, and even wizards, for that matter. It was almost as if the young man had a set of morals that differed from those from his homeland. Too bad, Am-Ohkre thought to himself. More than likely, any morals he had would be a liability to him and not an asset. More than likely, this apprentice would die sooner rather than later. Such a pity, too. He showed so much promise.
The Arch-Mage returned to his table and sat while taking a moment to reflect on his conversation with the High-Mage. Indeed, he thought, if Ke-Tor knew the truth, then maybe a knife was waiting to be plunged into his own back, though that would not help the wizard obtain the one staff of Alore, the first staff of magic. No, only he and the other two Arch-Mages knew the truth. The powerful artifact of Alore was not on Agon at all, but soon, one day soon, it would be very close to Agon again, and with it, the Kesh would reclaim their proper place amongst Agon’s people. A place of world domination.
Targon was born an Ulathan. He had just returned the prior day from the family’s hunting blind, just over half a day’s walk from his home near the large and powerful Rapid River that roared nearby. The blind was not far from the crossing where their family had lost its patriarch. He had to skirt the Blackthorn Forest where his home was located just at the north end of it. He had hoped to land a deer or even a buck, but with no luck and his time running out, he returned home to see if he could at least scrounge up something for the family. For some reason, the animals nearby seemed to have literally disappeared. There were no birds chirping and hardly anything larger than rabbits around.
He could feel the warmth of the sun rising at his back. It was still cool enough that he could see his breath as he breathed. Despite the cold and the dawn of an early spring day, he stayed focused on the wild hare that was just now peeking its head out of its warm warren hole. Targon was determined his mother would have a nice rack of conies to cook for her birthday today, and it would start with this particular rabbit.
The animal slowly poked its head farther and farther out of the hole, smelling the air for any telltale sign of danger. Slowly, Targon pulled back on the bow he had always carried ever since he could remember. A deep breath and a slight rise to clear the mound on which he had been hiding behind, he let loose the arrow with a twang, and it flew quickly to its mark, but not quick enough. With a start, the wild rabbit must have sensed or heard him as he pulled himself up to let loose his arrow, and the rabbit ducked back down its hole to safety just as the missile arrived to lodge into t
he back wall of dirt.
Failure, Targon thought. He had been so careful, too, and waited patiently for the rabbit to appear. Turning to sit on the rocky mound, he mulled over the events of his morning. He had the sun at his back. The wind was blowing from side to side, and he had arrived early enough to settle in and not give the wild animal a cause to his location. He felt sure that his preparations were satisfactory, but obviously, his execution was lacking. He made too much noise either when rising or when pulling back on his bow. Just a half second quicker and he would have scored his first kill of the day. “Hmm,” he muttered aloud to himself.
Before he could decide on whether it was his movement or the movement of the bow, he heard his little sister, Ann, come splashing through the water of the small brook, and thence upon the twigs and dry grasses of the small hillock on which he was sitting.
“Hoi, little brother,” she cried as she spotted him on his rocky mound. He could see her clearly now coming up over the berm by the water with her dark brown skirt flowing in the morning breeze and a light tunic made of wool tied over her shoulders and chest.
“Little?” he responded with a chuckle. “I am nearly twice your size and height, little sister, and triple your age, so it is you who are the ‘little’ one. Come, let us return home together. It would not be good if Mother caught you wandering so far from home.”
“So why do you always get to wander so far from home,” Ann asked in a whining “why me” sounding voice.
“Because, as I said, little sister, I am twice your size and twice your age. I can take care of myself out here on the edge of the forest, but if you strayed too close, there is no telling what would come out for you.” Ann looked up at him as he finished with just a tinge of fear in her eyes. She clasped his large hand in hers tightly and started back down the small rise toward the brook.
She was only eight years old, and Targon that summer would be twenty, having completed his second decade time of Adulting, in which many cultures referred to as “coming of age” or “becoming a man” or part of a tribe or clan. Here in the world of Claire Agon, or just Agon as most of the locals called their world, the time of Adulting was the time of change from childhood into adulthood. This was a time of celebration and of responsibility, but Targon knew scant little of the rites of passage for his world. He lived pretty much alone with his mother, older brother, and little sister, far from the closest town on the edge of the wild.
His older brother, Malik, had finished his own Adulting several years ago and was conscripted to serve in the king’s army for five years. Well, king if one can call himself a king. In most lands, the king may have been called a baron, if that, but for the lack of knowledge that Targon had coupled with the grandiose perception of himself, the good King Korwell oversaw the Realm of Ulatha, consisting of the capital (now named Korwell, of course), a few small, poor towns, and one or two small squalor-filled villages along the main trade routes that the “good king” saw fit to tax and tariff. And if a good citizen of Korwell could not pay taxes, they had to send a family member instead to serve the king and make good on the family’s obligations. So it was that having almost no coinage with which to pay taxes, the Terrels sent instead their firstborn son, Malik.
It was a sad time when they had said their good-byes and Malik had left the family homestead, leaving Targon alone with his mother and sister. Up till that time, Malik had taken care of the heavy lifting around the homestead, having been a great hunter and strong enough to move rocks and small tree stumps from the small plot of land they used as a garden during days of no snow. Targon didn’t fully realize how much he loved and would miss his brother until he was gone. Of course, there was no real thought of Malik staying. The penalty for refusing the service of the king was harsh, and all able-bodied young men in their first year after Adulting were to serve in their king’s service and protect the realm from its enemies, unless the family was rich enough to pay proper taxes instead. Targon mulled over the idea of his obligation to serve when he completed his Adulting. In fact, around the same time that he himself would have to serve, his brother, Malik, would be released and able to return home. It was, of course, for this reason that many families decided to either space the birth of their children apart by more than five years or to simply have many children in general.
The walk back was quick enough. His mother was already up laying out the wet clothes she had washed on the large granite rocks to dry in the rising sun. Ann had run up to hug her and tell her about finding her “little” brother so easily near the forest. Ann’s face conveyed a smile, but Mother was frowning just a tad at the corners of her mouth at hearing just how far out her daughter had meandered by herself. It wasn’t that she wanted to live so near to the wild with her precious children, but rather, after many years of wandering and travels, she and her husband had decided to retire to the family home after her parents were ill, and well, this was their home. The wild just seemed to get wilder and to have kept creeping closer and closer to their homestead.
“Good morning, Mother, and happy birthday to you!” Targon said, and then smiled as he walked up to the rustic wooden cabin they called home.
“Good morning, my sweet!” his mother replied. “Up early you are on this fine morning, my young gentleman. Did you find what you were looking for?”
Targon frowned a bit and looked down at his worn leather boots as he shuffled them and kicked a small rock over twice while thinking how best to respond to his mother’s probing question. “Well, I found it well enough, but catching it is another matter,” he said.
“Well, my, my,” she said, “perhaps another try before lunch, my little hunter?”
He hated it when she called him “little,” and it was no doubt a good reason why his little sister enjoyed using the word as a taunt herself, despite the fact that he was the tallest and largest Ulathan in the entire valley. “Yes, Mother, another go to be sure, but this time a different outcome!” With that, he sprang back down the path toward the brook. This time in a roundabout way, he headed downwind of the rabbit warren so as to try to catch them unawares. If nothing else, Targon was persistent if not stubborn.
The family homestead had stood for centuries enduring the many transits of Dor Akun and remembering in history a time of much greater civilization. Passed on from one member of the Terrel family to another, the homestead had belonged to Targon Terrel’s grandparents, Luc and Julia. Targon and his family had moved there not long before the death of his father in the Kesh bandit raids more than seven years ago. His grandparents were ill and getting older, and with a family to take care of, his mother, Dareen, thought it best to return to her ancestral home. The Terrel family lived there in relative peace and happiness through the passing of both Luc five years ago and his grandmother, Julia, three years ago. Malik had left just after the passing of his grandfather and was not home for the burial of his grandmother. Targon had done his best to fill in for his missing brother, who was effectively filling in for both their father and grandfather, as the man of the family.
Many centuries ago, there was a small keep not far from their house on the ancient trade road leading out of the realm from Ulatha to Kesh in the East. After the Great War and the transit of Dor Akun, what was left of the inhabitants found themselves in a nasty skirmish with lawless Kesh brigands and even small bands of northern barbarians. That had seen to it that the nobleman and his troops were driven out and the keep abandoned, and not long thereafter, the small town around the keep as well was given to nature and now stood as a remnant of what civilization was like in that part of the world. Still, the Terrel homestead endured where most all else faltered.
The initial cabin was only one room with a door in the front and a small porch as well as a door to the rear. Later, two more rooms were added, making the square home a rectangle with each added room of equal size. When the Terrels moved there, Luc and Julia took one room while giving the other to Targon’s p
arents and baby sister, Ann. Malik and Targon slept in the main room upstairs on a flat wooden loft built in the small rafters of the cabin. The boys and Luc had made it themselves, and Targon slept there still, preferring the perch above the main room to one of the backrooms that were now available since Ann still slept with her mother.
At the other end of the cabin, directly opposite the two rooms, was a stone fireplace and mantle. There was only one window in the entire cabin facing the front, so it was often dark inside, and Targon spent as much time outdoors as he could. The family lived too close to the forest to allow for a window in either bedroom. It would not do to allow any wild things access to their sleeping quarters.
The family had a small garden plot directly to the rear of the cabin and a small barn barely as high as a man could stand and just enough room inside to shelter their dairy cow and a few chickens that provided eggs for the family.
The homestead was once right on the northern edge of Blackthorn Forest, but decades of chopping wood and clearing land for gardening had made the entire area around the homestead devoid of anything larger than tall grasses and small bushes. Many granite rocks and boulders were strewn across the landscape, most being too large and heavy for any sort of removal, and they resisted the encroachment of man into the wild.
The small stream that Targon and Ann crossed was just inside the forest’s northern edge and linked up with the Rapid River about two miles to the west. There was a particularly large boulder near the river that Targon used to rest on when he went spearfishing with his grandfather or brother.
A small trackway led from the homestead north, parallel to the river, eventually reaching the ancient trade road that led from Ulatha in the West to the Kesh pass in the Border Mountains, about a day’s journey to the east. Targon had used this road several times in the preceding years.
Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series) Page 3
